


sage

by qar



Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [17]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Insecurity, Jealousy, Kinda, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), and he gets one, he do. he do need a hug., it gets better! cannot leave my boy hanging, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qar/pseuds/qar
Summary: Tommy hasn't streamed with Tubbo in a while, and that's fine. Maybe a little not fine. Wilbur's here to help- and so is Tubbo. Tommy's not easily replaceable, even if he doesn't realise it.Disclaimer:If any of the creators mention they are uncomfortable with these types of fics I will take this down
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961299
Comments: 45
Kudos: 798





	sage

“You know, I’ve missed hanging out with you,” Tubbo says absently. The two of them have been in a call for barely half and hour- but it’s the first time they’ve hung out in a while. It makes Tommy feel warm. “It’s been a bit, huh?”

“It ha-as,” Tommy says. And then, “I’ve missed you too, big man,” because he’s always been a bit soft for his best friend.

Tubbo lets out one of those quiet laughs, and Tommy _knows_ that’s grinning. It makes him grin too. It’s been so long since they’ve talked- not that long at all, really, but it’s _felt_ like a while, okay. Maybe he’s a little clingy. _We should talk more often,_ he doesn’t say. _This is nice._ Maybe he should say it.

Tubbo hums. Tommy can hear him absently smacking his keyboard, and the faint sounds of drilling in the back. He clears his throat. _I love you,_ he thinks. _You’re my best friend. Can we talk more? It feels like we’ve been drifting apart._

He opens his mouth, a lump blocking the words from coming out. Tommy’s not good at showing appreciation, okay. He’s _trying._

“Oh!” Tubbo says before he can get a word out. “Oh, balls, Tommy- I have a stream with Ranboo that I _completely_ forgot about.”

And it stings, okay, if Tommy's being honest with himself. It's fucking stupid, but it stings, because this is the first time he's been in a call will Tubbo alone off-stream in _so_ long, and it had made him feel all warm and fuzzy and happy the way talking to Tubbo always had, and like- Tommy should've known it wouldn't last long. He should've.

"Of course," he says. "You guys are playing Minecraft?"

"The bomb game, actually," Tubbo says. "Keep Talking."

"Oh," Tommy says. His lungs feel like they're being squeezed. He's not sure why. "Have fun, Tubbo."

"I will!" the other boy says cheerfully. "You can join the stream, if you'd like."

"It's fine," Tommy responds in kind. "Got things to do."

There's a short moment of silence, Tubbo's clicking audible through his mic. "Oh, well," he says. "Maybe next time."

"Maybe next time," Tommy agrees, and then there's the Discord disconnect noise. And then, quieter, "Bye, Tubbo."

It _stings,_ he thinks, as he disconnects and rolls away from his desk in a fluid motion. Tommy hasn't had a proper conversation with Tubbo in- a while, now. Hell, the older boy hadn't told him he was dropping out of school, or that he was deciding to make a fucking studio. Those were _important_ things.

They'd used to spend _all_ their free time together, Tommy thinks as he rolls off his chair onto his bed. They'd do everything together. From planning videos, to mucking around on Hypixel- even offline- to doing homework assignments together. They were the- the _dynamic duo._ They were- they were gonna move in together. Best friends.

 _Oh,_ Tommy thinks. _Oh._

It's not like he doesn't know it's about Ranboo. Tommy's uncomfortably aware that it's about Ranboo. The older boy is everything Tommy _is_ and more, and that's okay. It's fucking good for him, actually. And it's good for Tubbo, because, well. Ranboo's better than Tommy ever will be, and that's- that's fine, too. 

Will Tubbo still want to live with him?

Tommy's not blind. He can see the chemistry between Ranboo and Tubbo. They're best friends, like Tommy and Tubbo. And, indeed, Tubbo has two hands. Tubbo and Ranboo, Tubbo and Tommy. 

But Ranboo's just- funnier. Quieter. Calmer. Tommy's not going to _deny_ it or anything. Ranboo is better than him, and everyone is fully aware of the fact.

Tommy should- stop being selfish. Shut up, for a while. Stop being clingy and move on. Tubbo was better off. Ranboo was better.

It stings, he thinks, as his hands move of their own accord and open Twitter on his phone, feet pushing his chair back into place. It stings, he thinks, scrolling through the replies on that Twitter thread he, Ranboo and Tubbo had made. It stings.

_ngl i DO prefer ranboo and tubbo over tommy and tubbo but they're the ogs_

_guys ranboo's stream yesterday .they are Best Friends, ur honor,_

_ranboo and tubbo >> _

There's _so_ many. The weight on Tommy's chest feels heavier, more constricting. Maybe it's cause to be worried. Probably not.

_Jealousinnit._ Is this jealousy? He- he doesn't know. Probably. Jealousy's bad, and being fuckin' miserable over his ~~best~~ closest friend having _more_ friends was probably bad. Hell, it’s Tommy who’s bad, isn’t it? This- isn’t good of him. He shouldn’t be upset about this.

Then why is he crying?

“Is he ignoring you?” Wilbur asks. It’s a while later. Tommy’s moved back into his chair, legs pulled up to his chest. Wilbur’s started cracking him open like a bitch cracking open a geode. “It doesn’t have to be on purpose, you know.”

"He’s not ignoring me,” Tommy says immediately. “Tubbo- Tubbo’s not mean, or anything, Wil. He invites me to his streams with Ranboo. It just feels like- like I’m intruding.”

“Are you… upset over Ranboo?” Wilbur asks carefully.

There's nothing wrong with Ranboo. Ranboo's fucking pog," Tommy says. "He's cool and shit. That's why-" his voice cracks embarrassingly, leaving his voice quiet and raspy. "That's why Tubbo talks to him more than me, now."

The weight on his chest is becoming unbearable. It’s like he’s drowning. Suffocating.

"I'm just not good enough," Tommy says. It feels like a realisation. "I'm not good enough for him. For anyone."

"Tommy…" Wilbur says.

"Oh," Tommy says, in a realising-this-is-a-me-problem sort of way. The lump in his throat doesn't go away; it grows to the point where he can't speak, tears blurring his vision. He rubs a hand over his eyes. It comes back streaked with tears. "Oh."

"You were always good enough," Wilbur says quietly. "You still are."

"Oh," Tommy repeats. It feels like he's physically breaking apart when the first sob escapes him, loud and heavy, shaking his entire frame. His hands clap over his mouth, fingers splaying out to cover his eyes in something akin to shame. 

"We all love you, Tommy," Wilbur says. "You're not _less important_ than somebody because you think they're funnier."

"At least he's not _annoying,"_ Tommy gasps out, warm tears trickling down between his fingers. "Wilbur- Wil, I just keep talking, and _talking,_ and-" another sob interrupts him. "God, 'm so fucking sorry."

"Tommy, darling," Wilbur near whispers, leaning closer to his camera. Tommy shrinks back into his chair. "You're not annoying any of us at all. Swear. You're so fucking precious, okay?"

"I'm sorry," Tommy repeats, voice cracking, rubbing his face. His hands smell metallic.

 _"Please_ don't apologise," Wilbur says. He looks close to tears as well. Tommy doesn't know why. "I love you, you know that? You're like my little brother. Really."

It's the _I love you_ that sets him off again, quiet, gasping sobs being buried into his hands. Wilbur's probably distressed on his end of the phone, but Tommy can't make out his words through the blood rushing through his ears. 

"You don't," he mumbles, once his throat has cleared up enough to make out words. "You shouldn't."

"Of course I love you," Wilbur says again. "I'll say it as many times as you need, Toms. You're my best friend and my little brother and I love you."

Tommy sniffles, scrubbing his eyes with his hands again, Wilbur continuing to spout reassurances that go right over his head. “S-sorry,” he stutters, once he gets his breathing under control. It doesn’t stop his breath from hitching. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Wilbur says again. “Don’t. Don’t apologise for being human, you stupid little child.”

Tommy bites his lip hesitantly. “But I keep _crying.”_

“You absolutely do not apologise for that,” Wilbur says. “ _God,_ I want to give you a hug.”

“And I want a hug, big man,” Tommy mumbles. “We can’t all get what we want.” He leans over his desk to grab a discarded t-shirt off his bed and use it to mop his face. He’s rubbed off layers of skin in his incessant crying.

“I’m taking you out to ice cream tomorrow,” Wilbur says in reply, holding up his phone. Tommy can faintly see a blurry ‘FatherInnit’ on the screen. “And you’re getting that hug.”

“Oh,” Tommy says.

Wilbur meets him at the porch. Tommy's parents are both out for work, and they've entrusted him to Wilbur for the day. Not that he needs a babysitter or anything. He doesn’t mind, of course; his world brightens considerably when Wilbur makes his way up the stairs in two long strides and nearly sweeps him off his feet.

“Hey, TommyInnit,” Wilbur says, muffled into Tommy’s neck. Tommy laughs, tightening his grip around Wilbur’s neck; his feet are barely touching the floor. It’s a very enthusiastic embrace, to say the least. “Little brother o’ mine. Small child.”

Tommy swats at him.

They don’t end up going to an ice cream parlour; instead, Wilbur’s eyes light up as they pass by a frozen yoghurt place, and he drags Tommy there almost as though he’s the Small Child in their friendship. They spend almost an hour there; twenty minutes getting their yoghurt, with Wilbur going absolutely overboard with _both_ of their toppings- Tommy’s pretty sure the older man would run the shop dry of chopped-up Kit-Kats if he could. He wrinkles his nose when Wilbur adds the gummy bears and nuts. The combination seems deadly.

Wilbur insists on paying, and they spend far too long eating; the older man picks off the Kit-Kat piece by piece, carefully gnawing through each layer, and Tommy spends more time stirring around his yoghurt to melt it than eating it. It’s fine, though, they have the rest of the evening left.

Wilbur seems to be pointedly _not_ talking about Tommy’s tantrum yesterday, for which he’s grateful. He knows they’re going to talk about it later, probably. But he’ll relish the time spent _not_ feeling emotionally drained. Instead, they talk about everything else; once they’ve finished their yoghurt, they wander through Nottingham, stopping at parks and dipping in and out of stores. It’s fun.

He checks his phone once, while Wilbur’s slid into some crowded store to get his favorite brand of ice cream, since Tommy hadn't had a preference. He's got plenty of notifications; Dream, asking for confirmation on the next lore stream, Jack Manifold, telling him he'd be free on Friday to film, Quackity, sending him an image of Wide Tommy, which he replies to with a thumbs down. No notifications from Tubbo, but a ping on his, Tubbo's and Ranboo's group chat.

 _@everyone,_ it says. _Yu guys aer wonderfyl ramboo i coukd not hyve marryed a beter man_

And then, as he watches, the message changes. _tommy you haev to joen us soon_ is tacked onto the end. 

And then, a message from Ranboo. _hey man ! you should, . join our stream tomorrow :) we’re Doing Speedruns if you want to join !!_

It’s not really a big deal. Hell, Tubbo didn’t even have to invite him. Tommy’s not- Tommy’s not the best person to stream with. He knows that. And _Ranboo,_ man- he was always so nice. He was just so nice, and for what? Tommy just- wanting him to stop talking to his friends? Tommy being selfish?

He starts crying a ways away from his house, when Wilbur off-handedly mentions how amazing he is for what seems like the millionth time. The sky has darkened considerably. Wilbur pauses when he realises that Tommy’s stopped walking, takes his hand in his own and guides him to a bench under a streetlamp.

He doesn’t know _why_ he’s crying. Maybe because Wilbur’s going to have to leave almost immediately once they reach the house. Maybe because he feels so left out even though he _knows_ he’s only been pushing his two friends away. Maybe because Tubbo’s always been so, so good to him and Tommy’s never been anything but annoying and selfish in return.

“What’s wrong?” Wilbur asks gently. His hands are warm, intertwined with Tommy’s own freezing ones. The ice cream’s on the bench next to them. Wilbur’d bought him the one he thought he’d enjoy. Chocolate-something.

“I’m just selfish, aren’t I?” Tommy says hoarsely. “You shouldn’t- you shoudn’t be here. I shouldn’t be getting sad because Tubbo has friends. I’m selfish.”

There’s no one on the street with them. Lights of passing cars flash against the pavement. “You’re not selfish,” WIlbur says. “You’re- you’re scared. Of losing people. Are you?”

He might be. People were important, were stability. Tubbo's always been a constant, just like Eryn and Freddie and Wilbur and a lot more people- sure, some for a shorter period of time, but constants nonetheless.

"Then it's not selfish," Wilbur says. "You're not selfish, Tommy, for having feelings. They're all valid."

He's heard Wilbur say that before. _Your feelings are valid._

"Have you ever impulse-bought something expensive, Tommy? And it turned out useful?" Wilbur asks. 

Odd question. "Yeah," he mumbles back.

"I want you to message Tubbo when you get home," Wilbur says, and Tommy opens his mouth to protest. "Hush. I want you to click the send button the way you bought that item. It'll go good. Swear."

Tommy chews his lip nervously, shifting. The light outlines all of Wilbur's features. He looks somewhere between a drug-dealer and someone being honest. "He won't- hate me? Or anything? Promise?" _God,_ he just sounds so childish. Maybe he just wants the reassurance.

"Promise," Wilbur says. "Trust me."

He trusts Wilbur. Of course he does. 

Tommy’s at his desk, legs propped up on his bed, keyboard in his lap. His DMs with Tubbo are open. He- he doesn’t know what to type. Everything’s too honest. 

_i see yu o tyyyyping,_ Tubbo says. _Call?_

He presses the call button. Tubbo picks up. Tubbo turns on his camera. He looks tired, leaning back in his chair, yellow hoodie discarded behind him. Tommy turns on his camera. He’s basically laying in his chair, tub of ice cream in hand. It tastes fucking amazing. 

There’s a moment of silence. Then,

“Have you been crying?”

“Are we still friends?”

A beat.

"Ye-ah."

"Of course!"

And then, "What in the world would make you think we _weren't_ friends, Tommy?"

There they go. Tommy would’ve liked a better, more eloquent starting point- but his brain’d just opened and started screaming insecurities the moment it’d seen Tubbo. Not the best start.

“Nothing,” he responds convincingly. 

“Huh,” Tubbo says. “Why were you crying? Is something up, Tommy? You've been acting awful off lately.”

Tommy bites his lip again. It’s becoming a bad habit.

“Tommy?” Tubbo prompts.

“I’m _selfish,_ okay?” Tommy blurts. “Like, Wil said I wasn’t, but I am, because you’re my best friend and Ranboo’s _your_ best friend and you should just leave me already because he's nice and good and I’m just a piece of shit.”

“Oh,” Tubbo says. “Damn.”

Tommy wipes his eyes, looking down. They’re not watery or anything. _I trust you, Wilbur._

“Tommy, I’m not just gonna replace you,” Tubbo says slowly. “You’re my best friend. You think I’m just gonna abandon my other half _that_ fast?”

Tommy laughs wetly. “You should,” he says. “I’m just- annoying, Tubbo.”

“You are _not_ annoying,” Tubbo says, voice rising defensively. “And I’ll kick anyone who says so.”

“Oh,” Tommy says.

“I’m not replacing you, Tommy,” Tubbo repeats. “I wouldn’t. Hell, I _couldn’t._ I’d never be able to find a friend like you.”

Okay, maybe his eyes _are_ a little watery. Sue him. “Really?”

“Of course,” Tubbo says. “Jeez, Tom, you could have told me if you were feeling left out or something, man.”

Their friendship has always been balanced, no matter how much older Tubbo was or how much taller Tommy. Now, though, he feels small; like Tubbo could crush him if he moved wrong, or too sudden.

“But- like,” he says quietly. “What if you- I dunno, hated me? Cause, like, you had Ranboo now, and there isn’t- there isn’t much use for me anymore, and I’d been- like- not joining streams with you and stuff, cause it felt rude.”

Tubbo’s face falls visibly through his webcam. “You’re _always_ welcome on my streams, dipshit,” he says. “And I’m saying this again- and I’ll keep saying it- you’re not _replaceable._ I can’t just get someone new and move on. You’re my Tommy, dumbass, and you aren’t escaping that very easily.”

“Oh,” Tommy says. And then, “That’s very clingy of you.”

Tubbo stutters, and then laughs, face flushing. “You _asshole!”_ he says, and then Tommy smiles too and then they’re both laughing. It feels like solid ground again. Carpet that isn’t about to be pulled. 

_I trust you,_ he thinks. _I trust you._

**Author's Note:**

> honorary mention to pebble (or qariscool69) (or twitch.tv/pebblelaroque) for the wonderful suggestion of naming this fic penis. thank you. fuck you. 
> 
> hope you all enjoyed! this is being posted at 5 am and oh boy the exam i haven't studied for that's in two hours is about to kick! my! ass! but that's okay! have a lovely day/night everyone <3 take care of cho selves :)
> 
> tumblr: noorahqar  
> discord (the writer's block): https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm (copy paste into a browser)


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